


Already On My Knees

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Choking, Coercion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rimming, Spit As Lube, Virginity, brutish thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: Travelling in Bali, almost out of money, Loki is unlucky enough to meet a beach-dwelling dealer named Thor.





	Already On My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> For Selene, Diana, Mona, Allie and Alex, who are all filthy and I love them. Particularly this is for Noora, as a thank you for the beautiful art she created for it.
> 
> Artwork by the fantastic [umakoo/pohjanneito](http://pohjanneito.tumblr.com/).

  

 

It’s a breathtaking sight, one that Loki’s sure he’ll never tire of.

Bali. Another beach; an expanse of white-gold sand that gives way to a blanket of the most beautiful, shimmering blue, framed by the deep green of bowing palm trees.

It’s the seventh beach he’s visited here, and no less beautiful than the rest. He just wishes he hadn’t ended up here alone.

Digging the front wheel of his scooter into the sand he checks its stability before stepping away. He can’t help but pet gently at its tank, fond of the little vehicle that has carried him dutifully from Kuta Beach to the quieter beaches further South.

It will be out of petrol probably within a day, and it makes him sad to consider the very real possibility that he’ll have to abandon it.

At this point it’s basically stolen. He’d paid the equivalent of forty dollars to have the thing for ten days but that was three weeks ago, and in a completely different part of the state.

He had every intention of taking it back, but that was before Amora left him high and dry to continue his travels alone. Now, short of money and living day by day, travelling back on himself doesn’t seem a wise or very likely endeavour.

In no small part because he’s all but ran out of money.

He’d budgeted along the way by eating at _warungs_ and streetside food stalls, refilling his own water bottle rather than buying plastic bottled water, and being hard-faced in his bargaining for new clothes.

He’d kind of liked it, at first. Living like a wanderer, nothing to his name but the contents of his backpack, free of worries and at leisure to enjoy the beauty of Indonesia.

But that was before he’d actually run out of money and had to sell his watch - for a quarter of what it was worth - just to get himself here.

He pads down into the deepening sand, sweat forming on his upper lip as the heat hits him without the breeze from the scooter. All week it hasn’t been lower than a hundred degrees, and he’s out of sunscreen.

Before he’s too far beyond the treeline he pauses to part his hair horizontally, tying the top layer into a bun in an attempt to keep his neck cool.

He’s there, looking out at the water, when his attention is drawn by loud voices to his right. His gaze catches on a row of neat looking little huts with small blue-framed windows and low porch balconies that look out at the sea. They remind him of Wendy Houses.

A small Indonesian man with deeply wrinkled skin is standing in front of one waving a sweeping brush while a tall man, English-speaking, bellows angrily back at him, voice booming. His bronzed arms are thickly muscled, his hands large and clenched into angry fists as they exchange insults back and forth.

Loki can’t believe the man with the brush isn’t more scared, watching in disbelief as he stays rooted to his spot shouting back at the big man in an agitated, rushed mix of English and Indonesian.

“I paid you two days ago!” The big man growls, launching an empty bottle of beer over the small man’s head to land, neck down, in the sand.

The shouting only gets louder after that, as the smaller man - clearly the owner of the beach huts - insists that he hasn’t been paid enough.

The other man runs his fingers through his sun-bleached hair, held back off his face with the help of a grimy old red bandana, and growls in frustration as the little man keeps on talking loudly at him.

He’s kind of hot, Loki thinks, despite the unwashed look about him.

Not that Loki can talk.

Showers have been hard to come by since he ran out of money to afford hotels, leaving him rinsing himself under beach shack showers in his swimming shorts or scrubbing his armpits with salty sea water and hoping for the best.

Travelling through cities he washed as best he could, leaning over sinks in public restrooms using pearly, floral hand soap or even resorting to just rubbing himself down with borrowed face wipes from girls he’s bumped into on his travels.

Actually, right now he’d give anything to be as unwashed as this guy, with his beach shack and his bucket of cold beer.

Thirst claws at Loki’s throat at the sight of it.

“You’re a greedy fucking weasel, Mang,” the man spits, drawing Loki’s attention back to the scene before him.

The smaller man is already walking away, waving a dismissive hand behind himself.

The big guy is pacing the porch like a tiger, muttering to himself, levelling his landlord’s retreating back with a dark look that sends a tendril of fear down Loki’s spine.

His broad shoulders heave as he sucks in deep breaths, nostrils flared, and Loki can’t drag his eyes away.

But then suddenly the man’s looking right at him across the expanse of golden sand; a piercing gaze that makes Loki’s blood run cold.

He drops his eyes in a rush, stumbling away on suddenly unsteady feet.

Sure he can feel the heat of that look on him, he turns, only a few feet away, and finds that the man has perched himself on the edge of his porch, elbows on his knees, and is watching him intently.

-

Finding shade under a cluster of bamboo and palm trees he counts his pitiful Rupiah, wondering how much he can afford to sacrifice to dull the hungry ache in his stomach.

At the last beach he’d been befriended by a couple of girls who, charmed by his smile and subtle flirtations, had taken pity on him, letting him share not only their sunscreen but their lunch too, and had treated him to dinner at a reasonably fancy restaurant.

He’d let one of them kiss him, enjoying the sticky sweetness of her lipgloss and the soft noises she made into his mouth, but when she told him goodnight on the street outside her hotel he was only disappointed about losing the opportunity to sleep in a proper bed.

There are no girls around his own age here, that he can see, and he’s not stupid enough to approach the group of boisterous boys roughhousing in the waves.

Around one in the afternoon, when the sun is high in the sky and sweat is soaking through the back of his vest despite the shade, he drags himself up to the road to a family-run warung he passed when he first arrived, relieved to find it open and thriving with custom - a good sign.

He stands beneath the awning and stuffs himself full of fluffy white rice, fish and plantain, all of which set him back only three dollars.

The family give him a banana fritter for free which he eats in small, covetous bites as he heads back towards his shady spot on the beach.

He falls asleep there, tummy full and backpack clutched tightly to his chest, balmy warmth lulling him into a long rest.

When he wakes it’s nearly five and the sun is much lower in the sky.

He watches from his shade as boats come in, fishermen dragging heavy nets and buckets of fish up onto the sloped beach. The group of boys from earlier are all fast asleep beneath beach towels and they don’t rouse even as the workers from the beach cafe collect the empty bottles of beer strewn around them.

Fires are lit as it grows darker, people gathering to watch the sun drop into the horizon, and Loki drags himself out of the long shadows into the last of the sun.

He’s watched almost every sunset since he arrived in Bali and he knows he’s going to miss it once he’s home, miss the way the whole world seems to calm as the air cools, the way the sun throws deep orange rays across the ocean in its last desperate bid to stay afloat before seemingly sinking into the depths.

He’s tired of fending for himself, but there’s nowhere he’d rather be. It’s the reason he hasn’t swallowed his pride and gone home.

Once the sun is gone the beach is lit only by the high moon and the pockets of orange firelight. Loki stays where he is, basking in the rush of the waves and the soft night breeze.

He’s in a world of his own, toes buried in the sand, observing the darkened hem of damp grow slowly nearer as the tide comes in. He’s only distantly aware of people moving around him, couples holding hands or strong boys packing away wicker tables and chairs as night falls over the beach.

He jumps when a sandled foot nudges roughly at his lower back.

It’s the man from earlier, the angry man, his expression neutral now, curious, as he looms over Loki in the mixture of moonlight and firelight.

Loki finds himself unable to speak, gripped in silence as the guy crouches beside him, saying nothing for a moment. He’s shirtless now, hair loose as he distractedly wraps and unwraps his bandana around his thick knuckles.

“You smoke?” he says, voice a low hum in the quiet.

Loki feels like he can’t breathe. This is hardly the first time he’s encountered a hippy selling drugs on a beach, but it’s the first time said hippy has seemed so intimidating; beefy and capable rather than _willowy and spiritual_.

“I can’t afford it,” he says, almost an apology.

Not that he’d smoke alone, surrounded by strangers, anyway.

“I could give you a discount,” the guy offers, clearly keen to make a sale.

Loki tries to smile. “Thanks, but I really can’t afford it. I can’t even afford somewhere to stay.”

The guy nods, slow. “That’s rough.”

Loki nods too.

A silence, not entirely uncomfortable, settles over them, and the man drops down into a full sit, settling himself next to Loki, looking out at the waves.

“I’m Thor,” he says, turning his face to Loki for the first time. The smile he offers is unexpectedly soft, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Loki.”

Thor nods, and after a moment leans in slightly to offer a hand.

Loki shakes it, dutifully, with a small laugh.

Thor observes him a moment. “You’re pretty far from home, for a kid with no money.”

Ordinarily Loki would bristle, haughtily insist that he’s not a kid at all, but he’s already seen Thor’s temper and, for once, his aim isn’t to provoke.

“I travelled here with my friend,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and letting it run through his fingers. “But she met a guy as we passed through Jimbaran Beach, so I got a scooter and decided to travel on my own for the rest of the trip.”

Thor nods, understanding dawning. “Traffic cops?”

It’s almost laughable how easily everyone he meets can guess what happened to most of his money.

Of course the guy who rented him the scooter didn’t even check he had a license, let alone mention that he’d need an international one to avoid hefty fines at the side of the road.

“I made the mistake of keeping all my notes in one place,” he says, shrugging helplessly. “I didn’t know. The minute I opened my wallet to get my license out the cop’s eyes lit up. Made me give him the whole hundred or threatened to take my license off me.”

Thor laughs a little, and Loki does too even though it’s not remotely funny. He’d nearly cried at the time.

“You gotta keep your notes in separate places,” Thor says, advice that Loki needed a fortnight ago.

“I know that now,” he assures, shaking his head. “They still stop me every time, they’ve taken like thirty dollars off me at almost every traffic stop.”

“You’re too pale,” Thor tells him, eyeing the length of him in a slow pass. “You’ve got tourist written all over you.”

Loki nods despite the way Thor’s prolonged look makes his stomach flip a little.

“I know, that’s why you came over to peddle your weed,” he says, without engaging his brain.

Thor doesn’t laugh, and Loki wonders if he’s wrong-footed himself. The silence seems to hang a moment too long but, just as Loki opens his mouth to apologise, Thor’s expression morphs into a slow smile.

“You’re smarter than you look,” he says.

Relief flooding him, Loki lets out a little laugh. “Are you sure? How smart is it to end up stranded and homeless in Bali?”

Thor’s big shoulders shift in a shrug. “There are worse places to be homeless.”

And, well, Loki supposes he isn’t wrong.

“I guess you’ll have to head home soon then,” Thor says, like it’s a fact rather than a question and Loki doesn’t like that one bit.

“I have a sixty-day visa. I don’t plan to go home until I absolutely have to,” he says, chin tipped up in defiance. Going home is the last thing he wants.

Thor hums, twists his bandana some more. Loki wants to ask how Thor ended up in Bali, what sort of visa has allowed him to settle here, but he’s still worried about offending the man, or stumbling upon some fact that it isn’t in his interest to know.

It seems as if Thor has disappeared into his own thoughts, gaze fixed out over the sea, eyes seemingly flowing in the pale blue of the moon.

“I could give you some money,” he says eventually, all casual.

Loki’s always thought of himself as intuitive, streetwise, but it doesn’t occur to him at first that Thor means anything by it.

“Aw, I couldn’t just take your money,” he says, tracing gritty fingertips over his own kneecap. “Thanks though.”

A momentary breeze sweeps past them, ruffling Loki’s unwashed hair, and he can’t tell whether that’s the culprit of his sudden shiver or if it’s got something to do with the way Thor is looking at him now; fixed, intense.

“I’m not talking about you just taking it,” he says, low and weighty. “You’d have to earn it.”

Loki’s throat clicks wetly when he swallows. He’d ask what Thor means by that, but the way Thor’s looking at him doesn’t leave much guess-work.

“You ever been fucked?”

The word makes Loki’s stomach jolt.

“Uh…” his voice catches, his eyes flitting around the few other people still visible along the beach.

Almost everyone has disappeared into their beach huts, curtains drawn, or retreated in-land to their hotels.

He feels a sudden urge to run, yet he remains rooted to his spot.

Thor raises a brow. “Take that as a no.”

Loki’s breath comes out shaky.

Honestly it’s not even that he never wanted it, just that the guys he liked were always interested in Amora instead.

Casual as anything, Thor pulls a worn out leather wallet from his pocket. It’s wadded with notes but Loki isn’t familiar enough with Indonesian Rupiah to work out how much there is.

“How much do you need?” Thor asks, like they’re just buddies and he hasn’t thrown  _fucking for cash_ out there on the table.

“I…”

Loki wants to be outraged, and part of him really is, but.

Well. The fact is that he has no money, none at all, and much as he was making light of it a moment ago he really is stuck. Stuck on a beach thousands of miles from home without even a bottle of sunscreen to his name.

He drags his dry tongue across his dry lips. “How much do you have?”

When Thor smiles it’s like he’s baring his teeth. He drops his gaze down to his cash again. “I’ll give you sixty bucks.”

“Fuck you,” Loki grumbles, shaking sand off his hands and moving to stand. It’s not just cheap, it’s an insult. It’d buy him maybe another three days here at most, if he didn’t eat.

Thor’s laugh echoes out around them as he takes Loki by the elbow and tugs him back down. “Look, kid, I’m not exactly rolling in it.”

He considers his cash again.

“Seventy five,” he offers.

Tilting his chin up, Loki says, ”I’d want at least double that.”

Thor lets out a little laugh, shaking his head like Loki is being unreasonable.

“Ninety,” he counters, and Loki can’t actually believe they’re bartering over how much it’ll cost to fuck him.

Thor’s gaze is steady on him, one brow quirking in question.

“I’m just trying to help you,” he says, like he really believes he’s being altruistic rather than taking advantage of Loki’s situation.

“A hundred,” Loki says with as much finality as he can muster. “And you’ll wear a condom.”

He may be running low on dignity, but he has enough pride not to sell himself entirely short.

Thor pulls a face, like the condom might be a deal breaker, but after a long moment he nods. “Fine.”

A sick feeling settles in Loki’s stomach then.

Fine, Thor had said, which means they’re doing this. Which means Loki has just literally sold himself.

It’s only then that he realises he doesn’t even know exactly what Thor has bought. A single fuck? The whole night? Does the hundred include foreplay?

“What do you want?” he breathes, almost scared of the answer.

Thor lifts a hand up to grasp at the clammy skin of Loki’s neck, and murmurs, “Whatever you’re willing to sell for sixty bucks.”

The touch is hot, possessive. Loki swallows hard.

“A hundred,” he corrects, more meekly than he’d like.

Thor only laughs.

-

Thor’s hut is basic, just a double bed, a rickety wardrobe and a single door which Loki guesses leads to a bathroom.

There’s an old aircon unit on the wall that rumbles to life like a jet engine when Thor clicks the button, and then he sits down on the bed with his knees spread and gestures for Loki to come to him.

“Oh,” Loki says, standing awkwardly by the closed door. “We’re just gonna…?”

Thor doesn’t seem too impressed. “What did you expect? Dinner first?”

Loki wants to argue, it’s in his nature, but he’s desperate enough for the money and _just scared enough_ of Thor that he does as he’s been ordered.

But as he steps into Thor’s space he’s hit by a wave of self-consciousness.

“I haven’t showered in a couple of days,” he says, quiet. He hadn’t felt _unclean_ until just now, with Thor’s thick thighs bracketing his knees and Thor’s face so close, nose level with his chest.

Slowly, Thor reaches around Loki’s waist to grasp the hem of the green ‘Bali’ vest he bought for two dollars the last time he went to the market for clothes. Thor pulls it up and over his head and Loki lets it happen, but tucks his arms back down against his sides as soon as he’s free of the material.

Thor lets out an amused little huff and tugs Loki in closer.

“You want to shower?” he asks, resting his chin on Loki’s sternum as he meets his eyes.

Loki nods, trying not to seem too demanding.

-

 

 

The shower room is plain, cheap white tiles on the floor and walls, a toilet at one end far out of reach of the shower head. Between the two is a dip in the floor that gives way to a yellow-stained drain.

Loki’s still looking around when Thor moves in behind him and grips the waistband of his shorts, fingers brushing the jut of his hips and top of his thighs as he shoves them down and off like Loki couldn’t have done it himself.

He’s wearing nothing underneath, having taken to wearing swimming trunks as shorts most of the time, but Thor doesn’t even pause at the revelation of Loki’s soft cock.

Looking down, Loki ponders the last time he trimmed, wondering if the nest of dark hair might put Thor off at all.

But then Thor’s turning the tap beneath the showerhead, testing the temperature only for a moment before encouraging Loki underneath.

Wonderfully cool water rushes over him, rinsing away the heat of the day and hours worth of collected sand, and when he tilts his head back Thor takes the opportunity to pull the bun out of his hair.

Rough fingers drag through the knots, tugging at his scalp, but Loki doesn’t complain, and when Thor steps up close behind him, still in his shorts, he does his best not to tense up.

Reaching around him, Thor takes hold of the small, well-used bar of soap and rubs it to a lather between his hands.

Warm breath brushing the back of his neck and the promise of hands on him are enough to send Loki’s body haywire, the hairs at his nape standing on end as his cock begins to harden.

It’s only then that it occurs to Loki that Thor intends to wash him. He looks back, over his shoulder, to gauge Thor’s expression, but soapy fingers just turn his chin back around.

Thor starts with his nape, then his shoulders and down his back, long sweeping movements that are neither particularly gentle nor sexual. There’s an impatience to it, and Loki supposes they’re eating into precious time here - time that could be spent fucking.

His stomach does a little flip at the thought. It all seems a little more real now that he’s here, naked, with Thor’s hands on him.

He goes with it when Thor spins him, lifts his arms one at a time when directed and tries not to shrink away as Thor rubs the lather into each of his armpits.

Little attention is paid to his nipples, though Thor does glance unsubtly at his face as his fingers pass over them. His stomach is next, flat but softer than Loki would like, and then Thor’s thumb is tracing the slight line of dark hair below his belly button.

Loki can’t help the gasp that escapes him when Thor takes his cock in his soapy fist and gives it a few perfunctory strokes. It’s an effort not to push his pelvis into the touch, but then Thor is reaching beneath to his sack, forcing Loki’s thighs apart with his thick-knuckled hand.

It’s weirdly impersonal, considering.

Then Thor takes hold of the soap again, levelling Loki with a hot look as he says, “Push your ass out.”

After a moment of hesitation, Loki angles his back towards Thor and arches, like he’s presenting himself. He squeezes his eyes closed as Thor runs a finger from the base of his spine down the crack of his ass.

He’s done this to himself, late at night in his bed, but it’s not comparable to this; to having a man he barely knows nudge an impatient fingertip at his entrance, rubbing in ungentle circles until it gives a little, permits the touch.

Thor’s chest is brushing Loki’s shoulder as he stands at his side, one hand working at his ass while the other, big and flat, comes to press at Loki’s stomach, holding him in place.

When he pushes in, not even all the way, the little ‘ah’ noise Loki makes bounces off the tiles around them, muted only by the rushing water.

He’s embarrassed by himself, wants to cover his mouth, but as Thor presses deeper he finds that he needs to reach for the wall to keep himself upright.

He’s fully hard now, arousal like a ball of heat spreading from his very centre to his extremities as Thor begins to move his finger in and out.

He doesn’t ask Loki if it’s okay, if _he’s_ okay, he simply works him open, pressing deep until his knuckles are flush with Loki’s ass.

Then his palm on Loki’s stomach is pressing a little harder all of a sudden, and it’s the only warning Loki gets before there’s a second finger sliding in alongside the first.

The stretch of it has him gritting his teeth, but once the two thick digits are past the rim they glide inside much easier, aided by the generous helping of soap on Thor’s fingers.

This really isn't what Loki had in mind when he asked for a shower, but he's glad of it, pretty sure gentle foreplay isn't on Thor's agenda tonight.

Funny little noises continue to slip from between his lips as Thor fucks him with two fingers, and he can’t help pressing back into the touch.

Dipping his head, Thor murmurs hotly into his ear, “You’re going to look great on my cock.”

Loki, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, shudders at the thought.

He blinks his eyes open when Thor pulls his fingers free, stares at his own slightly-tanned fingers fanned out against the white tiles.

There’s a wet slap behind him as Thor shucks off his shorts and drops them to the floor, bending his own head under the flow of water.

Loki’s eyes are caught on his half-hard cock; hanging heavy between his muscled thighs, veiny and impossibly thick at the base. His throat goes dry, belly flipping with the thought of exactly where Thor wants to put it.

Running his fingers through his own hair, Thor turns and angles his chin towards the soap.

“Get that,” he says, an order.

And when Loki has worked up a lather in his hands, Thor takes him by the wrist and pulls him in, makes Loki close a hand around his half-hard cock.

It’s mesmerising to watch rivulets of water find their way down his chest, through the grooves of his muscled abdomen before catching in the v of his hips to run down impressive thighs. His body is like nothing Loki has ever seen up close and he takes it in, every inch, as he works Thor’s cock to full hardness.

Thor’s watching him look, pleased with himself. He doesn’t reach for the soap himself, doesn’t give himself a polite once over, he just has Loki jack him off while he stands, feet spread, beneath the water.

“Okay,” he says eventually, twisting just enough to rinse the soap from his dick before turning the water off and herding Loki back out into the bedroom.

The air is cool enough now that it raises goosebumps on Loki’s wet skin, reminding him of quite how naked he is, and he crosses his hands in front of him.

When Thor turns the air-con off the room drops into sudden silence. Seeming not to notice, he takes his seat on the edge of the bed again.

Rather than beckoning Loki to him right away, this time he leans back on his hands and looks his fill, unsubtle.

Heat prickles at Loki’s nape again. He’s never struggled for attention, owing to his pretty face, but he’s never felt as if his body was much to look at. Always found himself to be too thin, too soft, too youthful.

But he’s never been bared for study like this, and Thor doesn’t seem disappointed in the slightest. He seems hungry, like Loki is a delicacy he can’t wait to taste.

It crosses Loki’s mind then that if Thor suddenly unhinged his jaw like a snake and ate him whole, his last thought would not be one of surprise.

“Come here,” he commands.

In an attempt to lessen the tension Loki asks, “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

Less patient now, Thor reaches to take Loki by the wrist and pulls him in, slotting him right back between his knees. Sweeping large hands down his flanks and around his hips to grip at the cheeks of his ass, he murmurs, “Well, we did clean you.”

A rush of breath escapes Loki’s chest when he realises what he means, and Thor laughs.

He lets his hands slide back to Loki’s hips and grips him there while he looks again, down at Loki’s cock - which has lots its hardness with the cold and the nerves - down his thighs and back to his own hands on Loki’s hips.

His breath is growing heavy now, all stoicism from the bathroom gone.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, pushing both thumbs into the hollow above Loki’s hips and then releasing. They leave pale spots in their wake.

Thor does it again, seemingly fascinated by the marks his fingers make. His eyes are bright when he looks up at Loki’s face.

“I’ll make it a hundred and fifty if you let me rough you up a little,” he breathes, like the thought excites him even more.

Loki opens his mouth but isn’t sure what to say, how to negotiate around such a vague offer. He’s never been _roughed up_ in his life, he’s not sure he’s into pain in even the remotest way.

“I don’t know...” he murmurs, untrusting. He doesn’t even know Thor.

Thick fingers squeeze his ass cheeks again as Thor sweeps his hands around Loki’s back, tucking him in closer still so Loki can feel Thor’s hard cock against his inner thigh.

“I won’t hurt you,” Thor says, sliding his thumb between Loki’s cheeks, teasing at the sensitive furl of his hole. “I won’t leave any real marks.”

Loki’s still hesitating even as he pushes back, even as his lips part to let out a low moan as Thor’s thumb rubs gently, at odds with the offer.

“One fifty, then?” Thor whispers, gaze fixed on Loki’s face.

And Loki shudders, lips still parted, and gives a slow nod.

He yelps as he’s lifted without warning into Thor’s lap, deposited with his thighs spread over Thor’s. The maneuver, impressively slick in its execution, only serves to remind Loki of how much stronger Thor is, how much bigger.

And he’s just given him permission to be rough.

The spread of his legs exposes his hole and Thor’s fingers find their target again with ease, petting for a moment before Thor attempts to work them back inside. There’s nothing to slick the way and Loki bucks his hips away from the touch.

Thor only shushes him, bringing his fingers around to spit onto them. Loki can’t help but pull a face.

He tries to relax, pinching his eyes closed as Thor slides a single, spit-slick finger inside, trying to focus on the way it makes his nerves buzz rather than the discomfort.

It takes him by surprise when Thor leans up to kiss him. It’s not a soft kiss, not sweet or playful like all the kisses Loki has had before, but it’s still more intimate than anything Loki was expecting. Other hand sweeping up Loki’s nape, he slides his fingers into Loki’s hair, large hand cradling the back of his head.

The way he kisses, demanding, lips pressed hard to Loki’s, makes Loki want to squirm in his lap, heat rushing through him again. He feels so small, vulnerable, and instinctively wraps his arms around Thor’s neck.

Thor swallows the soft whine Loki emits when his second finger pushes in too, biting at his bottom lip as if that might distract him.

Even when he pulls back from the kiss he doesn’t let go of Loki’s head.

Slipping his fingers free from the clutch of Loki’s hole he reaches up to trace Loki’s lips with his dry thumb. Loki tries not to lean away, focus drawn by the split-slick fingers near his cheek and the knowledge of where they’ve been.

“You’re real cute, you know that?” Thor murmurs, and Loki’s too intimidated to give it the scorn he ordinarily would. “I wanted to fuck you the minute I laid eyes on you.”

Loki remembers the look, the heat of it at his back as he’d shuffled away. He’d taken it for anger but in retrospect it’s easy to recognise it for what it was.

Thor presses his thumb harder, slips it between his lips to nudge at his teeth, and his slick fingers come to rest against Loki’s cheek.

Shaking a little, Loki opens up.

The pad of Thor’s thumb tastes of nothing as it slides across his tongue, whatever Loki was expecting - weed residue, sweat, dirt - clearly washed away in the shower.

He sucks on it, assuming that’s the point, and Thor groans.

They hadn’t talked about blowjobs but Loki’s willing, especially now that he’s seen Thor’s cock.

Amora had always laughed at him when they talked about sex, calling him a prissy size queen whenever he’d insisted that he’d only ever have sex with a man if he had a big, aesthetically pleasing dick.

He’s not so sure about the ‘big’ part now.

Thor’s thumb presses down on his tongue, making spit flood into Loki’s mouth, and he closes his lips around it more tightly. He thinks he’s being good, playing the way Thor wants him to play, blinking owlishly at Thor while he sucks sweetly. But then Thor’s fingers replace his thumb, the very same fingers that were just in Loki’s ass, and he gives Loki no choice but to take them in.

There’s a slight musk, but not much else for Loki to wrinkle his nose at, so he closes his lips around those too, trying not to complain.

But then Thor presses them further back into his mouth without warning.

He gags, hands flying up to grip at Thor’s wrist until he pulls them out.

Thor’s smirking a little, pleased with himself, but he gives Loki a second, watching intently as he sucks in a couple of breaths.

“Okay?” he says, like he’s asking, but he’s already pressing his fingers between Loki’s teeth again.

When the tips of his fingers reach the back of Loki’s throat Loki bites down a little to halt them.

Thor meets his eyes, that smirk still there, and Loki can only blink at him in confusion.

“Open your throat,” he says, stern, like he’s got some sort of authority over Loki, and for a moment Loki wants to bite his fingers clean off.

He doesn’t take orders; not from his father and certainly not from some beach hippy.

But when he tries to pull his head back he realises that Thor’s still got a steady hold there that no amount of pushing will dislodge.

There’s panic stirring in his chest and it must show in his eyes because Thor hushes him, impatient, and shoves deeper until Loki’s front teeth are leaving dents in his knuckles. Using his fingertips, he brushes the opening of Loki’s throat until he gags again.

Loki struggles, or tries, but Thor won’t let up his hold.

“Don’t be difficult,” he chastises. “I’m just trying to get you wet.”

Loki fights some more, chest heaving each time he gags, gripping as hard as he can at Thor’s thick, veiny forearm to no avail. Desperate, he digs his fingernails in until Thor hisses.

He growls. “You want me to fuck you raw?”

Loki’s drooling everywhere, all over Thor’s hand, down his own chin and chest, can even feel it dripping onto his cock. His vision swims with tears as his body fights to dislodge the intrusion in his throat.

Just when he thinks he’s going to either choke or vomit, Thor pulls his fingers free.

“Stop,” Loki gasps once he’s able to suck in a breath, coughing and drooling even more.

Thor huffs out a laugh and says, matter of fact, “I have stopped.”

Then he slides his hand around Loki’s back and shoves his fingers back inside, the slick of Loki’s drool allowing both to slide all the way in.

Loki wipes at his nose and eyes, chest still heaving a little.

“You’re an asshole,” he says, the kindest thing he can think to say.

Thor chuckles, leaning in to lay a kiss on Loki’s wet lips.

“I know,” he says, then he’s lifting Loki again and turning, throwing him down onto his back.

He looks downright predatory as he leans over, taking hold of Loki’s knees and lifting until his legs are bent up over his chest.

It’s all happening too fast, too much all of a sudden, and he lifts his palms in surrender, planting them at Thor’s chest as if he could push him away.

“Wait, wait,” he rushes out, suddenly aware of how stuffy the room has gotten without the help of the air-con unit whirring away. He feels like he can’t breathe, anxiety clawing up his throat. “I just need a minute.”

Thor does pause, though there’s still amusement in his face which Loki resents. He’s half tempted to kick him in the face and make a run for it, clothes be damned.

But then Thor’s slick fingers are at his hole again, petting at him like one might do a scared animal, and with the next breath that shakes out of him Loki feels a little more in control.

“Need me to make you feel special first, baby?”

There’s laughter in Thor’s voice and, oh, Loki really wants to kick him now.

But then Thor’s dipping down between his legs, parting his cheeks with rough thumbs.

“Look at you,” he breathes, almost reverent. Loki can feel himself twitching there and he wants to hide his face.

“You want me to eat you out?” Thor asks, lifting his eyes to see Loki’s face. “Want me to kiss this pretty hole?”

Loki whines, unsure of the answer. He’s not sure he wants any of this anymore but he’s growing hard again at just the mention of being touched there like that.

“Ask nicely,” Thor says, close enough now that his breath rushes warm over Loki’s entrance.

“Please,” Loki says, more begging for reprieve than anything. For Thor to either stop or just get on with it.

But Thor only clucks his tongue. “Ask me nicely to eat your ass.”

So Loki lifts his hips a little, humping up towards Thor’s face, and says in a rush, “Please eat my ass. Please.”

Thor lets out a pleased groan, and then he lays a wet, open-mouth kiss against Loki’s hole, tongue sliding thick and flat over the tight muscle.

Loki whines low in his throat, head dropping back onto the mattress, and Thor laughs at him.

He doesn’t care, lifts his hips into it again as Thor parts him with both thumbs again and licks at him, broad swipes of tongue that feel far better than anything Loki could’ve imagined; Thor’s tongue slick and his breath hot, and when he lets out a pleased hum Loki can feel that too.

And then the very tip of Thor’s tongue is there, pointed stiff, forcing its way inside, thicker the deeper it gets.

Almost of its own volition one of Loki’s legs drops across Thor’s shoulder, heel digging into his upper back in an attempt to pull him closer.

Thor pulls out to kiss and lick at him some more, before shoving in again, tongue so deep that Loki can feel his teeth.

This time when his tongue slips free it’s replaced by two fingers, shoving deep and easy into Loki’s spit-slick hole, fucking in once, twice, before they’re gone and he’s full of Thor’s tongue again.

“Ah, god, _please_ ,” Loki gasps, wiping sweat from his brow and upper lip, taking two of his own fingers into his mouth to shut himself up.

Thor keeps it up, abusing Loki’s hole with his fingers and tongue, and Loki’s thighs begin to shake.

Getting close, he reaches down to take hold of his cock only for his hand to be slapped away.

“Not yet,” Thor chastises, like Loki should’ve somehow known he wasn’t allowed.

Thor goes right back to eating him out, tongue slipping just inside the ring of muscle, and Loki shivers, unsure if he wants to spread himself out for Thor’s attention or curl himself up into a shaking ball.

Between the oppressive heat in the room and the overwhelming _pleasure_ that Thor is wringing from him, it’s all starting to feel like too much. He’s eager to come, eager to take Thor’s cock however he wants and then just take his money and go. He’ll sleep beneath a tree for all he cares.

When he goes for his cock again moments later Thor growls, slamming his hand down over Loki’s wrist to hold it in place against the bed.

“No no no,” Loki cries, unashamedly needy for _just that little bit more_.

He lifts his butt off the bed, almost riding Thor’s face in his desperation to come, gasping and whimpering as Thor continues to alternate between long, rough licks and pumping his fingers deep inside.

For a moment he pulls away completely with his hand, fucking Loki with just his tongue again, and Loki wishes for him to keep it there, for him to stay still and let Loki ride his tongue like that until he comes.

But then the fingers are back, harder to take than before, and Loki whines long and low at the realisation that Thor’s working a third finger inside along with the others.

“Thor,” he gasps, wishing he had more air, more control over the situation, but instead he can only writhe helplessly while Thor opens him up further.

Thor hums. “That’s it, you keep saying my name like that.”

Loki hates him, hates his smug voice and his face and his gaudy tattoos, he wishes they’d never met. And yet, he’s desperate now, hot and needy, buzzing right down to his toes with his building orgasm.

“Thor,” he says, hoping that if he’s good then he’ll get to come.

He’s shaking, fists creasing the bed sheet, rocking his hips up like he can get friction from the air. He can’t imagine how he looks.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please, let me-”

Thor takes pity on him and lets go of his wrist.

Loki’s hand flies off the bed, fisting frantically at his poor, neglected cock with a too-tight grip while Thor looms over him with a shit-eating grin and three fingers buried inside of him. His pupils are big and dark, likes he’s drunk on the power he’s exerting, like Loki bringing himself over the edge with a desperate hand is the best thing he’s ever seen.

Loki comes over his stomach, feeling himself tighten around the bulk of Thor’s fingers, toes curling in midair. His breath hitches as Thor pulls his fingers free and rubs the flat of them against Loki’s twitching hole.

Then he’s gone, and Loki is left lying, sprawled and breathing heavily, without even the strength to lift his head.

He can hear Thor moving around the room; padding feet, the wooden scrape of an opening drawer. Loki thinks - hopes - that maybe there is lube after all, but then Thor’s weight shifts the foot of the bed.

There’s the click of a lighter, then the unmistakable, overpowering smell of weed fills the room.

Thor stays there at the foot of the bed for a moment, takes a few deep drags, before turning to crawl over Loki.

He’s got his mouth closed, chest full of smoke, and he fastens his lips over Loki’s and breathes out, filling Loki’s lungs.

Loki gives a little cough, feels the burn in his chest.

“You’re gonna want to be good and high for this,” Thor tells him, taking another drag and giving the secondhand smoke to Loki once again.

It doesn’t take long for the soft buzz to wash over Loki, weed mingling with the afterglow of his orgasm and leaving him calm and pliant.

He isn’t sure what Thor’s selling but it must be good stuff.

Thor’s able to manhandle him up the bed with minimal effort, flipping him onto his front with no concern for the drying come on his stomach.

Loki lets out a surprised little yelp as one large hand lands hard and flat across his asscheek, the slap of it ringing out into the room, and then Thor’s yanking his hips until he’s arching his back, ass tilted up.

“Fuck,” Thor groans, kneeing his way between Loki’s thighs. He grips palmfuls of Loki’s ass and squeezes, parts his cheeks.

Face pressed flat to the pillow, Loki just waits - waits to be slapped again, to be fucked, to be used however Thor likes.

He feels the cool trail of fresh spit down his parted crack, lifts into it as Thor thumbs at his hole again.

The hairs on Thor’s upper thighs brush the soft underside of Loki’s as he shuffles in closer, then the blunt head of his cock is there, nudging at Loki’s entrance.

“Condom,” Loki murmurs, lifting his head until he can see Thor in his peripherals, poised above him and no doubt ready to work his way in.

Thor pauses there, breathing heavily, like he’d hoped Loki wouldn’t realise.

It’d take a hell of a lot of drugs to make Loki forget that.

For a moment he’s afraid that Thor won’t, that he’s about to be overpowered and fucked bare, but then Thor leans over to reach for the drawer.

“You really are smarter than you look,” he says, and to prove him right Loki watches him roll the condom on before settling back onto his front.

He hears Thor spit again, hears the wet stroke of his palm on himself, and then the blunt pressure is back and Thor’s using his weight to press inside.

It hurts more than Loki was expecting, opening up for the fat crown of Thor’s cock, and he tastes the cotton of the pillowcase as he opens his mouth around a surprised mewl.

Thor spreads him wider with his thumbs, uncomfortably wide, and shoves a little harder, gritting out words like _relax_ and _open up_ that Loki can’t even begin to process.

He whimpers, tries to bear down, and it’s a momentary relief when the head of Thor’s cock bullies its way through the rim of unyielding muscle.

It’s a short lived relief, though, as Thor drives in further without warning, no time for Loki to adjust to being opened up.

“Okay?” he asks, like he cares a little, but again he doesn’t wait for an answer, working his cock inside.

Loki can hear himself making high pitched little whimpers, too focused on the too-tight stretch of Thor’s fat cock as he inches his way in. It _hurts_ , each small, forceful shove filling him up until he feels as though he can’t take it.

He hears himself whine, reaching back, fingers scrambling against Thor’s abdomen, but his wrists are gripped within tight fists.

“Shh,” Thor murmurs, using his grip on Loki’s arms for leverage as he sinks deeper. “You can take it, it won’t hurt for long.”

Somehow there’s more and Loki wants to cry as Thor works his fat cock deeper and deeper with little regard for Loki’s shows of discomfort.

When he’s finally all the way in, abdomen flush against Loki’s ass, Thor gives him a minute. Loki gasps in a shaking breath, whimpering more at just the thought of what’s to come.

Thor runs a finger down the length of his spine, collecting sweat.

“Gonna fuck you,” he says, and Loki does cry out then as Thor’s retreating cock pulls at his insides.

Generously, Thor does spit again, but the next slow thrust back in still feels like it pierces Loki deep inside.

“Relax,” Thor tells him again, rocking his hips. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Loki would scoff if not for the ball in his throat.

He tries, tries to reclaim some of the calm he felt from the weed, thankful that Thor isn’t trying to pull all the way out again. It’s still not _comfortable_ but the rocking is better, and when Thor leans down to bite and suck at the nape of his neck he’s wracked by sweet little shivers.

“There you go,” Thor sighs, and like that he’s able to draw his hips back, cock slipping free just enough that he can fuck back in.

It still hurts, but less, and Loki grunts, fingertips denting the mattress as Thor begins a slow rhythm, breathing out his own pleased sounds into Loki’s ear.

The broader his thrusts become the louder his moans are, the more guttural, and Loki tilts his ass up even more, trying to please him.

It doesn’t take him long to adjust to being fucked, for the rhythmic in and out to feel equally as good as it does painful, although the discomfort doesn’t lift, and each time Thor slides home a little too deep there’s a sharp pain deep inside.

He can hear his own hitched breaths, his own constant low groans, but he’s unable to swallow them down.

“You ever think your first cock would be this big?” Thor grits out, punctuating it with another deep jab of his hips, his breath damp and hot against Loki’s shoulder.

A few more long shifts of his body over Loki’s and Thor sits up, air rushing over Loki’s back and making the hair on his arms and neck stand on end. Like this Thor is able to better control his thrusts, hands gripping and spreading Loki’s asscheeks again, no doubt hungrily eyeing the way Loki’s body swallows him up.

He growls, slaps Loki’s ass again, and picks up speed.

The faster he moves the better it feels, deep friction sending pleasure blooming through Loki’s core, and Loki pushes back into it, matching Thor’s rhythm as best he can.

The air is filled with their laboured breaths, the slapping of skin on skin as Thor’s thighs meet Loki’s, pelvis slamming home against his ass, and somewhere in the back of his mind Loki wonders if there’s anybody staying next door.

Breathing heavily Thor pulls free, strokes wetly at his own cock for a moment, then flips Loki over onto his back again.

It’s nice for a moment, to be able to breathe without anticipating the next sharp thrust, but then his thighs are being yanked wide and this time Thor shoves his way back in right to the root.

He seems to like the way Loki arches up with a hurt little whimper.

“Fuck you’re pretty,” he says, planting both palms flat either side of Loki’s face, gaze fixed on his expression as he takes up a rhythm again.

Loki lifts his hips into it, chasing the friction and the deep ache of being stuffed full.

“That’s it,” Thor encourages him, brushing the hair out of Loki’s eyes and angling his head with a rough palm so that their gazes lock. “You like it, huh?”

Loki hiccups out a little gasp, nodding.

“You have that look about you,” Thor murmurs, palm stroking his jaw, his neck. “Slutty. Like you need to be fucked.”

Loki blinks up at him, no energy to argue.

“Not just fucked though,” Thor says, lifting Loki’s knee over his hip to fuck in good and deep. “You need it rough, don’t you.”

Loki whimpers with the new angle, throwing his head back. He’s not sure he’s going to come again but it feels so good, so much better than he was expecting.

“Yeah,” he sighs out, because why the fuck not.

He doesn’t expect Thor’s hand around his throat, thick finger and thumb laying pressure against his blood supply while the meat of his palm cuts off Loki’s airway. He doesn’t use too much force, but Loki’s hands fly up all the same, fear flaring up.

But on the next deep thrust Thor lets go completely, letting Loki take a deep, shuddering breath before he puts his hand back again.

“Wait,” Loki says, but Thor only shushes him, stroking lightly either side of Loki’s adam’s apple.

“Said I won’t hurt you,” he says, already adding pressure again.

And so it goes for the next minute or so; Thor shoving his cock in and out, harsh thrusts getting faster, while intermittently squeezing at Loki’s throat, breathing hotly down on him, gaze intent, clearly turned on by how powerless he’s rendered him.

Thor seems to lose all sense of rhythm then, using his weight to seat him deep inside, hips moving in short jerks now.

And Loki waits for the grip on his throat to ease up, counts the seconds, but there’s no give.

His chest begins to stutter, lungs fighting for their next breath, but Thor doesn’t let up this time, doesn’t loosen his grip, and panic starts to set in.

Thor looks manic, like he’s so caught up he’s forgotten that Loki needs to breathe.

Gripping desperately at Thor’s thick wrists Loki digs his nails in, feet scrabbling at the bedsheets as he tries to twist himself away, shrink in on himself so that he might become small enough to escape Thor’s hold.

His heartbeat thumps in his ears, throbs in his chest, and his vision begins to swim as tears fill his eyes.

“Shh,” Thor breathes again, squeezing harder now to keep Loki still as he fucks him in quick, short thrusts. Every one of Loki’s panicked jerks creates an unbearable friction deep inside.

The world begins to dim at the edges, Loki’s attempts for breath just a weak wheeze, and as his chest begins to contract so, too, does his hole, squeezing in tight pulses around Thor’s fat cock.

All of a sudden Thor lets go, cock still hammering away inside, and Loki sucks in a deep, desperate lungful of humid air.

A high, buzzing heat washes over him as oxygen floods his system, and as his body clenches and stutters he realises that he’s coming, bright spots dancing before his eyes as his toes and fingertips, and even his tongue, tingle with the rush of it all.

He didn’t even touch his cock.

He’s spasming helplessly, clenching around Thor’s cock, dazed and fucked out beyond anything he’s ever experienced, and Thor keeps fucking him through it.

He lies pliant, twitching still, unable to even gather the strength to clench his fists as Thor uses him, fucks him hard and fast, punching short, tight breaths out of his still heaving chest.

When Thor eventually comes it’s with a near-roar, loud and guttural, sounding on the verge of pain as he empties himself in tight, jerking pulses.

His weight drops onto Loki for just a moment, cock shoving uncomfortably deep, before he gathers himself and rolls off, stretching out onto his back at Loki’s side.

“Fuck,” he says through harsh breaths, tugging the condom off and dropping it beside the bed. “You were worth every penny.”

The ball of hate in Loki’s belly gathers even more heat, but he says nothing.

-

“We said a hundred and fifty,” Loki says a little later, having tugged clothes back onto his sweaty body.

He feels worse than he did before the shower, and he wants to be as far away from Thor as he can get.

Thor’s still naked, sitting up against the headboard, thighs spread, with another joint between his lips.

He’d handed Loki a wad of Rupiah from the same drawer his weed had come from, and watched with amusement as Loki had pulled up his latest screenshot of exchange rates and done the maths.

“I don’t have the rest yet,” he hums, palming at his own cock. “Come and get it tomorrow night.”

Loki wants to be angry about it, but honestly he’s not entirely surprised. “Did you think I wouldn’t check?”

Thor shrugs.

He holds out the joint to Loki and lifts a brow, but Loki only scoffs and grabs his backpack from by the door.

“Hold on,” Thor says, getting up from the bed. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Loki instinctively backs away from him.

He’s holding out a little key between his thumb and forefinger.

“What’s that?” Loki eyes it with suspicion.

“The key for next door,” Thor grins. “You’ll have to be out early, Mang hasn’t realised that I took it yet.”

Against his better judgment, Loki accepts it.

He feels dirtier than he did before Thor washed him so he takes advantage of the shower, liberally using somebody’s leftover body wash and rubbing it to a thick lather beneath the cool water.

He sinks into the bed with shorts on despite the heat, not wanting to be naked.

He sleeps like the dead, thankful to be in an actual bed for the first time in almost a week, and scrambles out just after five when his alarm wakes him.

All day he thinks about leaving with his hundred dollars but he doesn’t, needing to get what he’s owed, too proud to let Thor get one over on him.

Instead he watches Thor skulk about the beach charming unsuspecting young tourists, exchanging his goods for their hard-saved money.

Begrudgingly Loki gives up five dollars for a tuna sandwich and a couple of bottles of water from a cafe on the beach, filling up his own water bottle with the cold, clean water before retreating back to his shady spot.

Thor doesn’t meet his eyes all day, not even once, but he’s there waiting on the porch when Loki approaches his hut after dark.

He gives up the money without a word, smug half-smile fixed in place. He’s looking at Loki with that hunger again, and Loki hates how it makes him feel - hot and itchy, turned on.

As if he can sense it, Thor’s palm, big and rough, catches on the side of Loki’s neck.

“Want to come inside?” he asks.

_No_ , Loki thinks, grip tight on the money in his pocket. He can’t, he shouldn’t. He should get as far away from Thor as he possibly can.

He bites his lip. “How much?”

-

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the fantastic [umakoo/pohjanneito](http://pohjanneito.tumblr.com/). So thrilled to have finally collaborated with her on something. <3


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